


Turkey's a Little Dry

by Got_Well_Soon



Series: Skate AU [4]
Category: Life Is Strange (Video Game)
Genre: Cooking, F/F, Family, Love, Same-Sex Marriage, Thanksgiving
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-19
Updated: 2016-11-24
Packaged: 2018-08-31 20:36:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,909
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8592613
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Got_Well_Soon/pseuds/Got_Well_Soon
Summary: A cheerful Pricefield Thanksgiving story. Because everything needs a holiday special. No football, politics, or awkward turkey-day dinner conversations. Part four of the Skate series.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> For those not familiar with the American Thanksgiving holiday: This is a major U.S. holiday, falling on the last Thursday of November, when groups of family and friends gather for a traditional feast, typically centered on a whole roast turkey. It’s a tricky dish to prepare well, and since most people only make it once a year, many fail to master it and produce reliably mediocre results. The “best” way to cook a turkey remains an ongoing national debate.

Chloe groaned. “I’m down, but I’m not looking forward to another crappy Caulfield turkey. I only eat the stuff once a year, it ought to at least be decent.”

Max pouted. “I _know,_ I’ve been eating dry, flavorless turkeys my whole life. Maybe I could convince them to let me make it this year.”

“You think they’d go for it? Have you _ever_ cooked a turkey?”

“No… but, how hard could it be? It’s not like it has to be great to be better than what we had last year.”

“I dunno Max, I’m thinking this might require the deft hands of a Price.”

“I am a Price!”

“You married in. You don’t have the genes. I’d better handle this one.”

“You think you can make a better turkey than me, because your mom can? Have you ever paid any attention to how she cooks it?”

“A little! Once!”

Max folded her arms. “Uh-huh.”

Chloe held her head high. “Hate to say it, but you know I’m just the better cook.”

“Oh really?! Then how about a little wager? We can both cook one and find out for real.”

“Oh, it is _so_ on!” Chloe grinned hugely. “You are going to have the best turkey of your life, seasoned with the tears of your own bitter defeat! Loser has to fix the leftovers. Your parents suck at that too.”

“You’re on! And _no_ help from Joyce.”

“Won’t need it!”

Max’s parents turned out to be enthusiastic about a change of turkey regime, and it was agreed that Max and Chloe would each submit a bird for, ostensibly, impartial evaluation.

As the big day approached, Max brought home a modest, fresh 14-pounder, while Chloe went for broke with a frozen 26-pound monster. On Wednesday, Max unwrapped hers, spread salt all over it, put it in a roasting pan in the refrigerator. Chloe left hers in the package. Each gave the other a smug look of confident superiority.

On Thursday, they drove across town to Max’s parents’ house, rain beating on the windshield, turkeys wedged between them on the truck’s bench seat. They parked in the driveway, dashed into the house, and converged on the kitchen, where the Caulfields already had dinner prep well underway. The counter was occupied by bowls of prepped vegetables and a restaurant-sized sack of potatoes. A slow-cooker full of stuffing burbled away, filling the house with an enticing aroma. There was more food than the four of them had any hope of eating, that day, or the next.

“Hi sweetie!” Vanessa greeted them, putting down her knife, hugging Max one-armed to accommodate the turkey-laden roasting pan, then standing back to regard Chloe. “Chloe. You’ve changed your hair!”

“Hi girls. So much for the blue-haired wonder!” Ryan said. “Looks cute.”

“Thanks Ryan.” Chloe swung her 26-pound package onto the counter with a thump.

Vanessa ogled it, wide-eyed. “Good lord, how many people are you planning to feed with that thing?”

“Loser has to deal with leftovers, and I plan to win.”

“Clever.”

Max set the oven to preheat, while Chloe slipped out the rear of the kitchen to the side door. After sneaking a taste of stuffing from the slow-cooker on the counter, Max followed, and found her on the covered porch in the back of the house, dumping charcoal into Ryan’s old grill. “This is the way to do it, Max. You can’t beat the flavor and crispy skin from a charcoal fire! This was over before it even got started.”

“You haven’t seasoned yours. What good is crispy skin if it doesn’t taste like anything?”

“Don’t have to. Enhanced turkey! ‘Contains up to 8.5% retained broth solution.’ Delicious, delicious solution.”

“Cheater.”

“What did you expect? Also, not actually cheating. Hell, most birds are like that these days.”

“Oh.” Max furrowed her brow, thought back to the package from her own bird, discarded the previous day. What exactly had the label said? She hadn’t read it.

Chloe raised an eyebrow, leered at her. “Something wrong?”

“Nope, just lamenting another majestic animal transformed into a processed, industrial imitation of its former self.”

“Majestic? Have you ever _seen_ a turkey?”

“I’ve photographed wild ones, they’re majestic… ish.”

“We can totally have one those next year, but… I’ll need a shotgun.”

“No.”

“Please?”

“No.”

“As you wish. Enhanced turkey for all.” Chloe went back to setting up her coals, dousing them with huge gouts of lighter fluid.

“Mmmmm, petroleum distillate.”

“Back in the kitchen, smart ass.”

Max went back into the house, returned to the kitchen where her father stood peeling potatoes. Her mother, happy to cede her prep responsibilities now that the kids had arrived, had already wandered off. Max leaned over the island in the center of the kitchen, unfolded a printed recipe, and set it down to review.

She didn’t hear the back door close softly, or the quiet, slow footsteps behind her.

“Gotcha!” Chloe yelled, wrapping her arms around Max’s waist and pulling her backward.

“Eeek!” Max shrieked, struggling briefly, ineffectively. “Chloe, why!?”

“Because you love it.” 

“I love _you.”_ Max smiled, relaxed, leaned back into the embrace.

Ryan chuckled. “I can’t believe you still get her with that.”

Chloe grinned. “Sometimes the old tricks are the best tricks.” She peered over Max’s shoulder, reading the recipe. “Huh. Looks pretty conventional, babe.”

“Nothing wrong with conventional, if it’s good.”

“ _If_ it’s good.”

Max shrugged. “I guess we’ll see. I don’t mind losing though.”

Chloe gave her a final squeeze, let go, retrieved her turkey from the counter. “I’m hungry, let’s get this show on the road.”

* * *

They lounged in the kitchen, waiting for the birds to cook, occasionally helping Ryan with side-dish prep. Then, unexpectedly, they heard the front door open, voices, feet tromping through the house… and Joyce and David were standing in the kitchen door. David set a big pan, its contents hidden beneath aluminum foil, down on the counter.

“Mom! David!” Chloe was momentarily stunned.

“Hi sweetie. Hi Max.” Joyce hugged them both. “Hello Ryan. Vanessa told me about this contest of yours and I couldn’t resist tasting the results for myself. And you’ll definitely need help with the eating.”

After they had exchanged pleasantries, David turned to Chloe. “So Chloe, how’s she running?”

“You mean my wife, or my truck?”

David cleared his throat, embarrassed. “You know I mean the truck.”

“Honestly, better than ever. Those new brakes are a lifesaver. Literally.”

“Glad to hear it…” David went on to postulate about what they ought to upgrade next. Joyce left the kitchen, looking for Vanessa.

She found her in the living room, hammering away at holiday greetings on her phone. Joyce sat next to her on the couch.

Vanessa put down her phone, looked wistfully back toward the kitchen. “Two daughters for the price of one,” she said. “Did you ever think it’d turn out like this?”

“Well…I did have some inkling. I guess I hoped it might, until you moved.”

“Really? Before we left? They were just friends then.”

“Mostly, that’s true.” Joyce looked thoughtful, remembering. “But there was this time, Chloe was 13, I saw her put her arm around Max, and her hand slipped under Max’s shirt, was on her back. It lasted a second, an accident, but not _really_ an accident. If a girlfriend of mine had done that I’d have objected or at least moved away but… Max just had this big smile. After that I paid more attention and… there were signs. I don’t know if Max realized. William agreed with me.”

“What did he think? Did you say anything?”

“Oh, he just adored Max. He would have loved to see them together like this… but, no, we never said anything. It wasn’t our place to interfere, and anyway, it was just a little thing here and there.”

Vanessa nodded. “Well, it took us by complete surprise. Ryan was more accepting than I was but, seeing them together every day, it didn't take too long. Now that they’re married I’m starting to wonder when we’ll get some grandkids. Have they said anything to you?”

“No. I think it’s _if_ , not _when,_ you know how much more complicated it is, if they even want them. I wouldn’t make any assumptions.”

Vanessa sighed. “I suppose you’re right. So far I’ve resisted the urge to bug Max about it. But they’d make such good parents.”

Joyce sat back, looked at Vanessa. “Would they now? Have you _met_ my daughter?”

Vanessa smirked. “No? She’s more like William every year. Don’t try to tell me he wasn’t a good father.”

“Of course he was… she is so much like him, isn’t she? Never quite at home in the world as it is. She even looks more like him now, with that short blonde hair.”

“I know, I’m concealing my distaste. She looks a bit imperious.”

“I don’t mind it. She’d had the blue for, what, almost ten years? Time for a change.”

* * *

David and Ryan had taken beers from the fridge and gone out to the porch, leaving Max and Chloe in the kitchen, where they exchanged occasional taunts and fidgeted nervously, each trying to project confidence where none, in fact, existed.

The thermometer attached to Max’s turkey beeped. “Yes! Come to mama!” she exclaimed, opening the oven and pulling out her roasting pan. The bird was golden-brown, crisp, plump, and smelled wonderful.

Joyce’s appeared in the doorway. “Looks like someone’s been paying attention, unlike my own flesh and blood!”

Chloe held her best poker face, but she didn’t fool Max for a second.

Joyce picked up a knife and a big meat fork. “May I?” she asked. When Max nodded, she made a deep cut down the center of the breast, pried it open. “So far so good, cooked all the way, not dried out.” Deftly wielding the knife, she sliced out a bit of meat, brought up on the knife point, and popped it in her mouth. Chewed once, and then stopped, her eyes suddenly wide, looking at Max. Max’s happy expression collapsed into anxiety, while Chloe, still poker-faced and motionless, raised one eyebrow. Joyce resumed chewing, slowly, then swallowed with effort. “Oh dear. Max, how much salt did you put on this turkey?”

“Um,” Max said, retrieving her printed recipe, “it says here. I used just what they said.”

“Honey, I hate to tell you this, but it is not edible. There’s just way too much salt.”

Max was crestfallen. “Oh no! Can we fix it? How could this have happened? I measured really carefully!”

Joyce shook her head sadly. “Once salt goes in, it doesn’t like to come out.”

Chloe had developed a triumphant expression, but when Max looked up at her in despair, her face fell. “Shit, Max. I’m sorry. Let’s see that recipe.” She crossed the kitchen, looked down at the paper. “Hmmm… Babe, which salt did you use for this?”

“The stuff in the blue cylinder. We didn’t have enough of the regular kind.”

“No, dude, that’s granulated. This recipe is for kosher. If you measured by volume like it says here, you used twice the salt you should have. Also this is for a bigger turkey than you’ve got so… more like three times.”

Max closed her eyes, tilted her head back. “Always read the fine print, Max. I guess this contest is over.”

Joyce looked at Chloe. “Oh, I don’t think that’s been determined yet.”

“Jeez, Mom, have a _little_ faith.”

“Let’s just see. Your timer’s about done, go get us our centerpiece.”

Chloe marched confidently out the back of the kitchen, and soon returned with a turkey on a big grill rack. It was huge, a deep, crusty brown all over. Not as photogenic as Max’s, but it looked promising. She set it down on the island.

Joyce readied the knife. “Well, it looks good at the surface. And within…” She cut a deep slash, pried it open, and peered inside. And let out an exasperated sigh.

“What?” Chloe asked, eyebrows raised in alarm.

“Any chance this was still frozen when you put it on the grill? The inside is raw.”

“What?!” Chloe looked into the cut. “Aw, fuck! Man, I didn’t think it’d take so long to thaw! Fucking bullshit frozen-ass bird!”

Max looked up at her meekly. “I was going to ask about that when you had it in the freezer, but…”

“Mom, a little help?”

Joyce shook her head. “We’d have to do surgery on this thing to separate the raw and cooked parts. There’s not much worth saving.” She stood back from the failed birds on the counter, put her hands on her hips, addressed Max and Chloe. “I hope you two are happy with this little contest, now we’ve got no turkey and you’ve _ruined_ Thanksgiving.”

Max stared up at Chloe, who had folded her arms and drawn up into her classic defensive stance, glaring at her mother. Max knew what came next, in three, two, one… and then Joyce laughed, put her hand on Chloe’s shoulder. “Sorry honey, just yanking your chain.” She walked over to the covered platter David had set on the counter when they’d arrived, and unceremoniously ripped off the aluminum foil, revealing a pile of deep brown turkey parts. “I think we’ve got plenty right here, let’s get this into the oven to warm up.”

Max and Chloe stood aghast. Chloe spoke, “You brought your own turkey?!”

“Well I know how things can go when you two compete with each other. You get too hot headed and make a real mess of things.” She hoisted the heavy platter one-handed, popped it in the oven, set the temperature.

Max peered through the oven window. “I can’t believe you cooked and carved an entire bird before you drove up here.”

Joyce shook her head. “It’s barbecue, cooked overnight. This is how David grew up eating it; he didn’t have a recipe, but we figured it out, together. Came out splendidly.”

Chloe looked skeptical. “David… helped you fix Thanksgiving dinner.”

“Don’t look so surprised! Chloe, David’s come a long way since he moved in all those years ago. You have to give him some credit for that.”

“Maybe.” Chloe opened the oven door, reached in bare-handed and snatched a morsel of meat, ate it. “Yeah… this _is_ pretty damn good.”

* * *

The next morning, Max and Chloe stood alone in the kitchen, contemplating one sodium bomb and one half-raw grilled disaster. Their families relaxed over coffee in the living room, awaiting breakfast from the dual contest losers.

“Let’s never compete again,” Max said.

“Screw that! This was just round one. Next year I’ll bring my A game, you’re going down.”

“Yeah right. Hash for breakfast?”

“Totally.” Chloe took out a cutting board, started unloading vegetables from the fridge. “Cut me some good bits from mine, will you?”

“Sure thing.” Max pulled a paring knife from the block on the counter, went to work on Chloe’s deep-brown turkey. “What should we do with the rest of these things?”

“Soup? The broth’ll dilute the salt.”

“Good call.” Max made a pile of edible turkey bits, while Chloe diced veggies beside her. When she felt she had enough meat, Max put down the knife, stepped behind Chloe, put her arms around her, gently. “Gotcha,” she said softly, her voice muffled by Chloe’s shoulder. Chloe stopped chopping, put a hand on Max’s at her waist. They held on a moment, then they both got back to work.


	2. Bonus Epilogue

Max steadily filled a big stock pot with turkey parts and vegetables, while Chloe shuffled a pile of hash around an enormous pan, emitting a crackling sizzle. Joyce walked into the kitchen, picked up the carafe of coffee from the counter. “How’s breakfast coming? Smells good.”

“Just about ready,” Chloe answered. “In a sec I’ll make some eggs and toast.” She paused a moment, pensive, then added. “I wish Dad were here.”

“I know honey, so do I.” Joyce put her hand on Chloe’s back. “But part of him _is_ here. I can see him every time I look at you.”

Chloe’s stirring slowed, stopped. Max looked over at her, saw her eyes gleam with tears.

Joyce, behind her, couldn’t see it. She continued, “And I think you’ll find yourself speaking with his voice, if you have kids of your own.”

Max watched a slight smile appear on Chloe’s lips, and the stirring resumed. “Hint, hint, eh Joyce?” Max said. “We’ve been married less than a year and you’re already fishing for grandkids? When I go online now all I see are ads for baby stuff, it’s like a worldwide conspiracy.”

“Sorry. I don’t mean to pressure you, it’s not my life. As long as you’re happy, that’s all a mother really wants.”

“As long as Max is here,” Chloe said, her voice tight.

Max sighed to herself. She wondered if Chloe would ever be free of this fear. Every once in a while it just bubbled up, seemingly out of nowhere. “I took a vow, Chlo,” she said. “I always will be.” She held up her left hand, showed off the rings. The engagement ring with its modest diamond, which William had given to Joyce, and the hammered gold wedding band, which Chloe had made for Max herself. It was a good, tangible reminder.

Joyce smiled, walked out of the kitchen carrying the carafe, muttering as she left. “Even on vacation, _I’m_ still the one refilling everyone’s coffee.”


End file.
